


Mar Amen

by emanthony



Series: Mar Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathtubs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6296587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emanthony/pseuds/emanthony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Trespasser. The second part to my story of Mar Lavellan and Solas and their unfortunate and fated relationship. They cannot stop hurting one another, it seems. (But I'm not convinced either one of them is trying very hard.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mar Amen

“You’ll kill yourself,” Mar said.

 

Perspiration slid down Solas’ face as he worked, hunched over Mar’s motionless form. Gray eyes narrowed, wide shoulders pinned low, and legs crossed beneath himself as he sat in a chair at Mar’s bed. He didn’t reply. The blue, black, and gray magic he wove was dense and heavy; it weighed physically on his form and made the slight, gentle motions of his hands considerably slow.

 

“I’ll die, too,” Mar added, voice barely above a whisper. Daylight filtered in through the tall arched windows along one wall, scattering pinkish light into the decadent bedroom and across the oversized, lush, white bed. The space was already filled with nearly-spent candles and magically-enchanted glowing orbs that hung from the ceiling. The marble floors and walls and fixtures glinted beneath the array of color and light; Mar could think of no better a place to die, though he didn’t know this place.

 

“You will not,” Solas said. A pale white hand slid down Mar’s bare tanned arm, warm to the point of being hot. “Not anymore, vhenan.”

 

If Mar hadn’t been weak, stricken with pain, and delirious from lack of sleep, he would have understood what Solas confessed, then. But he was too sick to comprehend the words; he only understood that Solas was there, that he was touching him, and that his efforts were quite great.

 

“Ar lath ma,” Solas said.

 

Mar did not say it back and drifted into the blackness that relieved him of pain instead.

 

* * *

 

The voice carried down the hall, rushed and breathless.

 

“He’s awake, ser.”

 

Mar was only strong enough to prop himself up against the wall as he moved slowly down the dimly lit hallway. There were windows up high on the walls shaded by lush greenery and beneath each step, Mar noticed thick red carpets running along the white marble floors. He’d woken up here alone, disoriented, and confused.

 

Distantly, he heard Solas say, “Thank you, Amenan.”

 

Mar closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion fell upon him, and he was grateful to be propped up as he was. Slowly, eventually, he opened his eyes again, in time to see Solas approach. His face was impassive. He seemed tall, taller than Mar had ever seen him, and as angular and white as the marble stone that made up this place. During all of his time with the Inquisition, Solas had seemed almost transparent, faded, and thin, like he’d gone weeks without food or sun, despite an abundance of both within Skyhold. Here, wherever this place was, he was absolutely solid.

 

“You should be in bed, lethallin,” he said, not unkindly. 

 

Mar was drooped like an unwatered flower but nevertheless he said, “I’m not tired.” His eyes fell shut again of their own accord.

 

It got a laugh -- a quiet chuckle. Solas reached out and slid a hand against Mar’s side, and pulled him from the wall. “ _Come sleep_ ,” Solas said in Elvish. 

 

“Solas,” Mar said, eyes opening once more as he was guided back the way he came, to the great marble room filled with flowers that glowed in magic and tea that remained perpetually steamed at his bedside. “Where are we?”

 

“You’re home,” Solas said. Mar made a fussy, irritated noise, and Solas laughed again. “It’s a demesne on the outskirts of Tevinter. It’s been hidden away for centuries while I slept; a relic of ancient elves, frozen in time. The veil is thin here. I suspect that is one reason you feel as worn as you do. Spirits pass from the Fade as if unhindered at all. The energy is unique to this world.”

 

Mar shook his head as they entered the bedroom and approached the bed. He was lowered into the bed without much protest, sinking into the luxurious down mattress and the abundance of velvet and lambswool blankets. “Why here?” he asked, voice just above a whisper.

 

Solas sat at the edge of the bed, back to Mar, looking out the open window. “I’ll rebuild the world from here,” he said.

 

“Is this like Skyhold?” Mar asked, reaching out and gently placing a hand on Solas’ back in a brief touch. “You found it?”

 

“It was never lost to me or to time, no,” Solas said. “None but me could reach this place. The magic here runs deep. It’s older than most things. None but the ancient elves could step foot in my home unless invited. They’d turn to trees in the yard, otherwise. There haven’t been many trees added, even in the thousands of years while I slept. Magic drives non-Elven away.”

 

The realization came to Mar slowly in the tired fog of his mind. “This was where you lived. Before -- everything. Before the veil. This was your home.”

 

Solas turned to look at him, then, and he reached out to stroke a hand very briefly, gently, through Mar’s fine blond hair. “Mir arla na mar.” My home is yours.

 

“You cannot decide that,” Mar breathed out, sleep sweeping over him again. The bed was so soft. Warm. The energy was drained from him without his will and he said, “It’s not my home unless I say it is.”

 

“No,” Solas said, voice gone gentle; or maybe Mar just wished it gentle. “You’re right. Home or not, it is elvhenan, da’len.”

 

_ The place of our hearts. _

 

* * *

Mar slammed his hands onto the great oak desk and sent a crystal glass of water to the floor, where it shattered, and rattled a great number of books across the surface. “What have you done to me?”

 

Solas looked up from where he’d been writing, a thick feather pinched between his fingers. He stared, impassively, into Mar’s wide dark eyes.

 

Mar trembled with fury, teeth bared in anger, but beneath the bravado it provided him, there was the truth: he was terrified. He had woken changed. In his weakness and delirium from before, he hadn’t noticed it -- hadn’t been cognizant enough to recognize the difference. His hand, the one that bore the mark for so long, was black stone. It was made of thousands of pieces, intricately woven, built to move like any hand could. It weighed heavily from his elbow, attached to his body like it’d always been there. But it was false. It was cold. “What is it?”

 

“You should not be moving so much, Mar. Please come rest,” Solas said, rising, moving around the desk on deft feet, and sliding a hand against Mar’s side.

 

“No!” Mar roared, slamming Solas away. “Do not touch me -- don’t ever -- touch me.”

 

Solas reached a hand out and dropped it, and kept his distance. “Your hand was lost, vhenan. I tried to remove my mark and spare you the pain of losing a limb, but I was unable to do so. But I knew magic, ancient magic, that could restore to you a hand as good as any mortal copy.” He looked back at Mar. “Does it hurt?”

 

Mar grit his teeth, tension evidence in his face, across his throat, and even down his chest. The fear was palpable now. 

 

After a great stretch of silence, Solas lifted both hands in a soothing, patient gesture. “I would never hurt you,” he said. “Never again like I did.”

 

Solas took a step towards him and Mar took a step back, like an instinctive reaction he couldn’t stop. He was shaking. “It’s heavy. My shoulder aches.” He whispered, “I don’t like it.”

 

“Ir abelas,” Solas said, taking another slow, careful step forward. Mar didn’t move this time. “Let me see it, please.” He held his hand out. “I swear I’ll do you no harm, da’len.”

 

Mar continued to tremble as he lifted his stone hand into Solas’ grasp. When the warm, gentle fingers closed around his wrist, he felt a wave of protection envelop himself, and he nearly sobbed in relief. “Solas,” he said weakly. He was pulled into a warm embrace, into the warm, earthy scent of Solas’ chest.

 

Solas’ hand slid into the thick blond waves of Mar’s hair, stroking down from his neck to the small of his back, where his hair stopped. “The weight of it will fade with time.”

 

“How long has it been, hah’ren?” Mar said, words muffled into the silk brocade of Solas’ robe. 

 

“A month since I took you through the eluvian. Only one week since the hand has been finished.”

 

A month? He’d never slept for so long, not even in the greatest sickness he’d suffered. “The Inquisition -- they’ll look for me. They’re looking now, I’m sure.” They must have known he’d been captured by Solas like this, when they ventured into that garden and realized none of the stone warriors matched his form.

 

“They cannot find you here.”

 

“Are you going to keep me here, hah’ren?”

 

“You’re free as you’ve always been free,” Solas said. “You may leave at any time.”

 

Mar went still. He pushed back, to look Solas in the face. “You lie.”

 

“I do not. Though I would advise against leaving today, vhenan. You’re not strong enough yet to take one of my mounts.”

 

“You’d give me a horse?”

 

“And a party, yes. A full caravan, so you may leave Tevinter safely. I will never see you in chains,” Solas said, brow furrowed. “Come. I’ll let you rest and prepare some food. Alright?”

 

Mar nodded, numb, and allowed himself to be guided out of the study adjacent to the bedroom where he’d awoken. “This is your room, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Have you been -- in the last month, I remember nothing -- but you haven’t…” Mar looked at the bed and back to Solas. The words felt clumsy in his mouth.

 

“I haven’t shared the bed with you, no. I’ve slept in the chair. Or in my study. Or on a pallet on the floor.”

 

“But it’s your bed.”

 

“It’s yours while you’re in it. I’d never be so presumptuous,” Solas said, and he smiled, visibly amused. “You’re questioning my intentions.”

 

Mar held up a hand -- his normal, mortal hand. “You said that you loved me, and you kissed me, and said you would take me. You knocked me out and carried me through the threshold of an ancient Elven magical mirror into your bedroom. You can’t lie to me so easily about something so obvious anymore, Solas. I know what you’d like,” Mar said, eyes tracking down Solas’ form and back up again, as if studying him for ill intent. “You had your chance to have me when I was here sick.”

 

“I do love you.” Solas crouched by the bed and took Mar’s hand into his own, sliding their fingers together gently. “But if we were to ever lie together, vhenan, you would be awake, you would want it, and I’d make sure you would remember it.”

 

The softness of his words sent a shiver across Mar’s spine, a whisper of arousal coiling in his gut. He pulled his hand back, slowly. “I’m hungry,” he said, voice small.

 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll return,” Solas said, standing up, and walking from the room, leaving through the large wooden door at the farthest corner. 

 

Mar took inventory of himself and the room while alone. He slid out of bed again, and imagined the vague look of disapproval Solas would have, and scoffed. He silently padded around on bare feet. Though the floors were white marble, they were warm beneath each step, and the rug beneath the bed was unfathomably soft. Magic hummed there, flowing like some natural force that made the space special and comforting. Mar slid his fingers across the spines of the worn leather books on the bookshelf. He couldn’t read the title of any; they were written in Elvish. Ancient Elvish. 

 

He moved to the window and found that it had no glass. Carefully, Mar pressed his hand through the opening and found a sort of magical resistance there, almost like a barrier he’d cast in battle. It kept the bugs out, but the sunlight, the breeze, and the sounds of the lush grounds filtered in undeterred. He stared out and could make out the rolling green lawn below and estimated he was probably three or four stories high. A sort of palace, Mar guessed, though he’d never been in one like this before.

 

Because it was Elven, he thought. Very old, ancient Elven. It was the first place he’d ever been like this that wasn’t a ruin. It was an in-tact and real place. He slid his hand off the sill of the arched window and walked back towards the bed. There were a thick bouquet of small white flowers in a crystal vase and a cup of tea that was still steaming warm. He picked it up, carefully, and took a sniff. It smelled like the stalks of flowers. He took a careful sip and winced at the bitter watery taste. 

 

“It’s a tea made from the chrysanthemums in my garden,” Solas said as he entered. He was carrying a tray and behind him, another elf -- taller, with short auburn hair, and gold eyes -- carried a plate of pastries in one hand and a pitcher of water in the other. “Would you like to sit outside and eat?”

 

Mar placed the tea back where he’d lifted it. “Outside?”

 

“Here,” Solas said, and he walked through an arched doorway beside one window. Mar followed tentatively and found himself on a terrace overlooking trees lush with fruit and a slow, careful pack of Halla nibbling on the remnants beneath them. There was a table and chairs in the shade of one taller tree, and Solas placed the food down there. He motioned for Mar to sit in one chair and vanished back inside for a moment. The other elf placed the plate down and poured Mar a glass of water.

 

“Are you a servant?” Mar asked, confused.

 

“I’m not,” he said, smiling. 

 

“He’s my friend and advisor, Amenan,” Solas said. “He’s been here for some time, since I left the Inquisition, nearly.”

 

“I’ve a military background,” Amenan explained, “And I came here to help Fen’Harel with tasks related to that. In the last several weeks, though, I’ve helped with more menial things -- like this. Someone stretched himself too thin, caring for you.” He shot Solas an accusatory stare, which wasn’t acknowledged.

 

Solas slid a blanket around Mar and sat in the other chair. “I haven’t any servants,” Solas explained. “But much of my force stays here. It’s safe.”

 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Amenan said. He looked to Mar. “It was good to see you awake, and with some color in your face.”

 

Mar looked down at the rice and vegetables steaming and spicy on his plate. “Thanks,” he said.

 

Amenan left. 

 

Together, Mar and Solas ate in silence, watching the Halla below.

 

* * *

 

It was a difficult process to get back into sorts. For the next day, Mar found himself exhausted with the most menial tasks. Dressing, undressing, eating, using the toilet, even washing his hands -- he needed a long sleep after every step. 

 

The next morning, Solas came into the bedroom with a grim look, dressed in his mage armor. “I have to attend to some Fen’Harel matters today, da’len. I didn’t want to leave you alone for any amount of time, but I’ll be occupied most of the day.” He sat at the edge of the bed, fingers slowly tracking down the length of Mar’s hair. 

 

Mar was laid on his side, barely awake, blinking slowly, warm and comforted there. “It’s fine. I’ll be alright here.”

 

“I’m going to leave Amenan to work in my study so you can have him there if you need.”

 

“I want to bathe,” Mar said. “Is that possible?”

 

Solas smiled. “You think ancient elves didn’t bathe?”

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d trust me to stay awake long enough to not drown,” he snorted. “Ass.”

 

“Amenan will show you to the bath when you’re ready. I’ll return later,” Solas said. He stood up and walked into the study, where the low tones of his and Amenan’s conversation lulled Mar back into another sleep.

 

Later, Mar woke alone and again with sunlight filtering into the otherwordly room that was -- alarmingly -- coming close to home. He pushed himself out of bed, shaking his head. His hair was thick and matted, despite Solas’ best efforts, and he wanted nothing more than to rest in warm water and try to rid himself of a month of sweat and dirt and sick. He leaned into the door of Solas’ study. Amenan was there as promised, reading from a book. He was lounged in Solas’ desk chair, one leg folded so his ankle rested upon his knee, chin propped up by his arm folded against the armrest. His warm-colored hair had fallen into his face and Mar wondered if he was as young as he looked -- mid-twenties, maybe -- or if he was ageless like Solas seemed to be.

 

“Hello,” Mar said.

 

Amenan blinked up, eyes wide. “Ah, Mar. You’re awake.” He snapped the book closed and stood up, dropping it onto the desk and making his way to Mar’s side. “How do you feel?”

 

“Covered in filth.”

 

Amenan smiled. “Solas said I was to show you the bath. And how to work it. Follow me.”

 

Just down a short, private hallway, Amenan pointed out a wardrobe room and then the bath. It was a square room with several steps that went down. The first two steps were dry and the third, fourth, and fifth sank into steaming, scented water. 

 

“This slot here is for your dirty clothes,” Amenan pointed out, stepping into the room. There were various runes along the wall, too, and he touched one briefly. A spout at the ceiling opened and water poured down, into the bath. “Each rune has water of a different property. It’ll fill the bath with whatever you want. Hot water, cold, oil-laced, medicinal… There are soaps in the basket in the corner there.”

 

“Wow,” Mar said, stepping into the room, standing at the highest step. “This is amazing.”

 

“It really is,” Amenan said. “I had no idea this sort of use of magic was even possible.”

 

“He had told me that magic used to run over everything in the time of elves, that it was a -- he said -- technology unlike anything humans have created to date. I never thought that it would apply to something as simple as a bath.” Baths with runes were one thing and rather commonplace -- baths with multiple runes connected to pipes that were filled with special properties, that flowed endlessly with whatever you would need? It was amazing. 

 

“He’s used that word before, yes. Technology,” Amenan said. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s from the past or the future when he talks about these things.”

 

“Both, if Solas had his way,” Mar said. 

 

Amenan gave Mar a bewildered look. “Ah. How well do you know him?”

 

Mar shook his head and turned away, towards the hooks near the door, and began to peel off his robe. “I hardly know him at all.” It wasn’t untrue. He knew more than others -- but far less than he ought to. Mar laughed and the sound was bitter. “I don’t even know why he brought me here.”

 

“He’s brought many of us here,” Amenan said. “Because he cares about the lives of elves.”

 

Mar sighed and turned to face Amenan, clad in only his small clothes now. “We were in the Inquisition together. I don’t strictly believe his treatment of me is because I’m an elf.” Amenan’s eyes darted down to his black stone hand and back up again. “I was the Inquisitor.”

 

Amenan’s eyes widened. And then narrowed. “I see. I will leave you to bathe.”

 

Mar nodded and watched him go. “Ah, wait,” Mar said, turning to the door again. “If you have a chance -- if you -- aren’t busy -- could you possibly find a brush for my hair? It’s matted…”

 

Amenan nodded. “Yes, ser.”

 

Mar stripped naked and waded into the water. The pool was large enough for him to dunk down and lay out end-to-end without bumping his head or feet. He soaked in the water that was nearly too-hot and then looked down at his wet stone hand. He moved it easily and felt unsettled as he clenched and unclenched a fist. He looked away and opted to soap himself down instead. He scrubbed until he was winded -- easier than he’d like to admit to feel exhausted -- and then dunked beneath the water again. The soap sloshed around him, fading away through a swirl of magic. 

 

A knock at the door. “Yes?” Mar said.

 

Amenan stepped in, with both a comb and brush in hand. “Here.”

 

Mar drifted to the edge of the tub and then rose out of it, hands outstretched. “Thank you, Amenan.”

 

He didn’t get an immediate reply, because Amenan was staring, tracking the wet beads of water as they slid from Mar’s face, down his neck, across his flat belly, and into the blond curls at the base of his soft cock. When he realized he hadn’t said a word yet, a flush came over his cheeks, and he looked away.

 

A darkness came over Mar. Amenan was a weapon, sharpened and left there so casually for Mar to take. Solas was a fool. “You can stay,” Mar said. “I need help to brush my hair anyway. I wouldn’t mind.”

 

Amenan looked at the door. “I may be needed outside, soon.”

 

“I’d be grateful,” Mar said, sinking back down into the water, brush and comb in hand.

 

“Ah, alright,” Amenan said. He stood before Mar’s robe on the hook by the door, and slipped off his shinguards and the wraps around his feet. Then he walked to the second step and sat down, with his bare feet and calves in the tub. Still clothed. Mar moved close, and then turned his back to him. He handed back the brush.

 

“It’s best to start with the ends,” Mar said.

 

“Alright,” Amenan repeated. He took a piece of Mar’s hair in hand and combed through it. He worked quietly and efficiently and though Mar meant to seduce him with languid stretches and suggestive touches, he was lulled into comfort and then into rest. He slept with one arm looped over Amenan’s knee, head rested in the crook of his elbow.

 

It turned out that this was the best method to seduce Amenan anyway, because Mar was stirred from his nap with a gentle kiss to his ear. Mar sighed and tilted his head back and the kiss drifted down his neck. “Ir abelas. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said.

 

“I don’t mind,” Amenan said. “I’ve suffered through worse than a beautiful elf draped and sleeping in my lap.” His hands slid down from Mar’s hair onto his chest, down his stomach. “Should we get you dressed and back into bed?” He started to pull his hands away and Mar stopped him. 

 

He turned to look at Amenan over his shoulder. And then slowly rose from the water and pressed his back to Amenan’s chest. When he was close enough, he kissed him, and sat with his bare naked ass pressed firmly against the front of Amenan’s breeches.

 

Amenan kissed him back and his hands slid down his thighs, pulling them apart to better balance Mar on his lap. Mar shivered, both from the cold and the casual dominance, and decided he’d like hurting Solas very much. His breathing began to draw heavier as his cock lengthened, flushed with arousal just from being touched and kiss like this.

 

One of Amenan’s hands gripped the base of his dick and the other slid beneath, against his entrance.

 

“Would you like to?” Mar asked, mouth still pressed close to Amenan’s.

 

“Yes,” Amenan said. He circled his finger there and jerked Mar in a tight, wet hand. “I want to stretch you on my cock.”

 

Mar moaned, eyes falling shut, and he rolled his hips backwards, to press against Amenan’s still-clothed erection, body begging where his words could not. Amenan’s clothes were soaked through now, but he made no move to remove them as he shifted a hand beneath Mar to free his stiff cock. Mar scrabbled for the basket of soaps he’d used, with various oils piled in there, and pulled free the one scented like lavender. Amenan poured it onto his dick, with Mar still propped against his thighs, and then he slipped his hand forward, beneath Mar, to slide a finger against his entrance. 

 

Mar gripped Amenan’s knees, spread wide against his thighs, and cried out when he pressed a finger inside, all the way to the knuckle, in one thrust. Amenan fucked him with it without hesitation and Mar bit his lip to muffle the sounds he made as he was worked open.

 

Amenan didn’t add a second. He pulled his hand back and placed both of them on Mar’s hips, and guided him back until the globes of his ass were against his hips once more. He pressed the round head of his cock against Mar’s entrance and Mar’s head fell back, against Amenan’s shoulder.

 

Amenan pulled Mar down onto his cock bit by bit and Mar was trembling as he did. “It’s good,” he choked out. “I’d forgotten -- it’s so good --”

 

“Been long since you’ve had a cock in you, sweetheart?” Amenan asked. “Look at you take it. You’ve done it before, haven’t you?”

 

Mar nodded and let out a weak moan when the curls around Amenan’s dick were pressed flush against his ass. When Amenan didn’t move, Mar tried to shift up and down, but found his limbs were too weak, too heavy to do it, and he whined.

 

“You’re tired?” Amenan asked, and then slid soothing hands across Mar’s belly and up his chest. “What would you like?”

 

“Please,” Mar said, “Please fuck me. I want you to come in me.”

 

Amenan moved his hands down, beneath Mar’s knees, and lifted him on his cock with ease. That alone made Mar cry out, too thrilled at the idea of being cared for by someone strong enough to do this. Amenan bounced Mar on his cock until he was writhing, panting, and begging for it.

 

“I want you to come in me,” Mar asked again, eyes flooded with tears, cock bouncing between his thighs every time he moved.

 

“I will.”

 

“Please. Yes, ye --” Amenan wrapped an arm around Mar’s middle, leaning him forward to fuck up into his hole, and Amenan hit his prostate, and it made him see stars. He screamed, using what strength he had to fuck himself back again and again. “I need -- I want to come --” Mar gasped. 

 

Amenan grunted as he fucked him harder, and slid a hand to squeeze Mar’s cock in time. 

 

Mar’s orgasm started low in his stomach and pulsed out of him, until he saw white behind his eyelids and screamed his release, squirming against Amenan helplessly. He was left sobbing in time with Amenan’s rapid, grunting thrusts, until Amenan pushed up, hard, and came, too. He spilled inside Mar, moaning.

 

They both laid out beside the bath, panting, for several minutes. Amenan was the first one to move, lifting Mar off himself and quickly arranging the bath the way it’d been when they entered. He adjusted his clothes, put on his shinguards again, and wrapped his feet once more. He ignored the fact he was wet, nearly head to toe. He pulled a clean robe from the hooks by the door and lifted Mar with it. 

 

“Thank you,” Mar said as he was lifted off the edge of the bath. “I don’t believe I can walk.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Amenan said. He walked Mar back to the bedroom and deposited him into the bed gently. “I’ll get a cloth,” he said. “Before you stain the covers.”

 

“No,” Mar said, sliding a hand beneath himself, fingers sliding against his swollen hole. “I want it there.”

 

Amenan’s eyes went wide and then darkened with arousal. “I see.”

 

Mar pushed his fingers inside, eyes fluttering. 

 

“You’ll sleep like this?”

 

Mar nodded, body already pulsing with the beginnings of sex, again. He bit his lip.

 

“You’re --” There was a moment of tension, as Amenan pulled together the strength of will he needed, until his eyes were set and determined to go. “I’ll be in the study,” Amenan said. “If you need me.”

 

Mar pressed his fingers deeper in himself and nodded absently. When Amenan left, Mar fell asleep, the bruises visible on his thighs and his hips once the robe fell away.

 

* * *

 

He _had_ made a mess of the sheets, when he woke up naked and twisted against the covers, and Solas was standing over him, brow pinched, eyes -- hurt. Visibly hurt, like when he’d been in a fight during the Inquisition, and his barrier would fail, or when he’d burn himself casting spell after spell. A wince, barely controlled.

 

Mar stared at him evenly and said, “I like your bath, hah’ren.”

 

Solas looked away and then left, the door to his room clicking shut gently, leaving Mar alone in the darkness of the night.

 

He never saw Amenan again.


End file.
